


Screw them

by Glendaa



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Phone Sex, Smut, Vanity Fair cover, robbed Oscar nomination, unusual aid for sex - sort of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glendaa/pseuds/Glendaa
Summary: Timmy is sad for not having been nominated for the Oscars. Armie comes to the rescue!





	1. Sad boy

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed, not reread, written on the spur of the moment. 
> 
> Bad, bad people of the Oscar awards! You know nothing of things that matter!

 

“Am I being ridiculous?”, he whimpers. “You would say if that were the case, right?”

“Babe…”

“Forget it”, he sighs. “I know I am. It’s just… Fuck”.

I hear the sad squeaky tone he has, at times, when he’s upset. Almost can see the way he worries his lower lip, shuffles his feet and ends up with his right hand curled under the chin, a mannerism everyone believes as pertaining to a certain Perlman boy when, in fact, it’s totally Timmy’s.

“Where are you now?”

“Just got home. Didn’t care to keep up appearances, plastered false smile repeating ‘hey, I was there last year, Sam was great, blah blah blah’. I mean, it’s fine”.

“Babe”.

“You weren’t nominated last year and you handled it so graciously. I mean, you didn’t call me pouting like a petulant child. I’m a mess”.

I laugh, a little more bitterly than I wished. “Babe, that’s only because I went straight to the booze and nursed my wounds”. _God, Armie, way to give bad ideas to the boy._ I sigh. “Got plastered and answered your sweet DM only next morning”.

“Uhm”, he mutters. “I truly think we should have been nominated together for CMBYN. There’s no Elio without Oliver!”

I sigh.

He sighs.

Just thinking about the movie makes us go weak in the knees.

“By the way… Aren’t you just saying this to make me feel better, right?”

“Oh, babe. I fully intend to make you feel better, but not by talking about how Hollywood works”.

Almost can see his beautiful lips open in the ‘oh’ that comes out of his mouth.

“As much as it pains me to hear that you’re already been called Leo 2.0”, I sigh, “I’m glad twitter has your back. Those assholes…”

“Please, tell me you’ll steer clear of social media”. He sounds worried right now. Worried for me, the idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut when he’s pissed about something. “Armz?”

I sigh. I know how hard has been for him playing the role of Nic. The descent into Hell, the struggle to lose weight (on such a light frame to start with) and now this unwanted result - his thinner body being coveted by stylists and designers. _How will he put on some weight if he’s constantly acclaimed as the new fashion icon?_ I’m worried, but this is not the time to voice my concerns. Now is the time to make him feel better, in the only way I can since I’m 2,451 miles (bird flight) far from him.

“I will behave”, I tell him, crossing my fingers. I’m glad he can’t see me because I cannot be sure that’s what I’ll really do. Sarcasm gets the best of me sometimes. “As long as your fans have your back”.

He smiles, still not sure why so many people love him so much. _Silly boy. Of course they adore you!_

“So, you alone, right?”, I ask.

“Yeah”.

“Good. Go to your bedroom. Now”.

“Mmmk, he says”, the start of a smirk on his tongue.

I hear the soft click of his door and the weight of his body falling on the bed.

“You listening to me, babe?”

“Mmm”, he nods.

“Take your clothes off. I want you naked. Now”.

He hisses and scrambles to do as bidded. I hear his shoes thud on the floor, fucking ugly trainers that still make me want to fuck him senseless. We did once - he naked except for those white monstrosities and his black baseball cap. Gosh, remembering it makes me want to palm my hard-on, already straining my shorts.

“What now?”, he whispers.

“Go to your closet and look for the shirt, you know which one”.

He giggles and runs to grab the brown flannel he wore to Ellen’s. _My flannel._

“Got it”, he exhales.

“Good. Put it on but leave it open. I want you naked except for it. Send me a pic?”

He gasps but does as he is told.

Now it’s my turn to whimper when I see him. His coy smile under the mop of curls does things to me. His cock is already leaking and we haven’t even started yet.

“That’s my good boy”, I groan.

“Armieee”, he breathes.

“I know, babe. I know”, I hiss. “Is Mr. Hugglesworth still on your bed?”, I ask.

He laughs. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Hammer?”

“You’ll see”.


	2. Mr. Hugglesworth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armie and Tim and their phone call. It gets heated and the Oscar snubbing is forgotten. Thank goodness!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING I hope teddy bears as sexualized (sort of) objects don't freak you out. If that's the case, read chapter one and stop at that (imagining all sort of great phone sex between the boys). 
> 
> Sorry if I'm one day late for posting. Life encroaches on art at times ;-) Enjoy!

 

“Do you remember when we bought the shirt?”, I ask him, fully knowing he will roll his eyes at the question.

“You know I do”, Tim purrs. “I remember everything”.

I chuckle. “I picked you up and you were, like, wearing this whole lumberjack oufit - still fucking hot, mind you - but I was like ‘where the heck did he find that?’ and you said ‘Brooklyn thriftshops, duh’. I never felt so out of place”.

“I bet you did! You were all ‘Let’s go camping! Mountains! Tent! Bear spray!’ and then show up as a surfer California dude in graphic tee and flip-flops”.

“Yeah”. I smile to myself and remember when we stopped at this God forsaken store, something straight out of the 70s, to pick up something that Tim would find suitable enough. “Here, flannel it is! We’ll be the new Ennis and Jack, sans shitty ending”, he had said.

I felt bad that he wanted to gift me the shirt, I needed to find something for him as well and sure enough I spotted the most awful-looking teddy bear on earth. Not enough fur, imo, (nothing like the new plushes they make) and scratchy as hell. Crooked eye and a sly grin on his face - a sad, sad piece of synthetic bright orange. Tim had loved him from the start, of course, _weird kid that he is_ , and proceeded to tell me he looked a lot like me and he would cherish it forever.

 _Fuck_. I didn’t want a stroll down memory lane!

I don’t want to get emotional and remember how, that night in the tent, he turned the bear’s face down ‘he’s a child, for God’s sake’ as I fucked him hard. How I had laughed to tears at that and promised we’ll find a sitter next time.

_Fuck._

I wanted to have some sex phone with my boy. To cheer him up after the Oscar snubb. Not this. _Get a grip, Hammer._

“Babe?”

“Mmmm”

“Still there?”

“You know I am”, he sighs. The sigh he does when he’s lazingly stroking his cock.

“Shirt still has my smell?”, I breathe huskily.

“Not much”, he sighs.

“Well, next week, things wil be different”.

“What? Are you saying that-?”, Tim shouts.

“Yes, I am”.

“Fuck, Armie”, he laughs. “Thanks. I-”

“And this spring. This spring, oh babe. Can’t wait to be near, in England… We could find time for a weekend in-”

He’s crying now. _Shit._ Where does this emotional mess comes from? I know – his fucking pain for the Oscars. He’s so vulnerable right now. I grit my teeth. I wish I could tweet freely. I barely contain myself.

“Babe, don’t cry. I know it’s overwhelming but-”

“No, no, it’s not. I’m just happy. So happy. Screw them. Screw the Academy. I’d choose you over them every day of my life”.

I swallow. Don’t know what I did to deserve this unicorn of a boy in my life. Thank God I’m selfish enough to not dwell on it.

“How about we stop chatting and you show me how happy you are?”, I hiss.

He giggles, I hear a clic and he sends me this pic. Adorable. He’s on the bed, lying on crumpled rainbow sheets, hugging Mr. Hugglesworth _yeah, I know, such a silly name_ and grinning ear to ear.

He looks so young and carefree. I lick my lips, I want to wreck him.

“Wet your fingers, babe. I’m so sorry we don’t have much time right now, but I’ll make it up to you. I swear”.

“Ar-Armie…”

“Open your mouth. Feel me. I’m there, with you”.

I hear his slurping sounds as he licks his fingers. One, two, three. I hear him gag. Gosh. Love it when he stretches his mouth, trying to ready himself for me. I start to stroke myself. No way I’ll let him alone in this.

“Babe, you make me so hard”, I croon.

He whimpers.

“Touch yourself. Wherever you want”. I know him so well by now. I can almost see his fingers tracing his chest, grazing a nipple and tugging it. I hear him moan as he does what my brain visualized. No need for many words between us.

“Go on, babe. Lower. Want to hear you squirm”.

His breath is more labored now. He tugs at his hard-on, already dark pink and swollen, precum adding wetness to his fingers. He hisses as he goes lower, breaches himself, eager to feel filled. _My beautiful boy._

“Don’t hurt yourself babe. Relax. Let me in”.

He gasps.

“I love you, Tim. You know that, right?” I can almost see the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Be a good boy and fuck yourself on my fingers”, I exhale. Fuck, why can’t it be wednesday already? I need to be there, with him. I tug at my cock and moan.

“Godgodgodgodgod”, I hear him chant. “Armie. Aaarrrrmmiiieee”. His gasps are so cute. What the hell is he doing? He feels so wanton right now.

I shudder. _Breathe, Armie._ “Babe, you close?”

“Nnngg”, he mutters.

“Then make yourself come. I want to hear you come”.

I feel muffled sounds then something scratchy and a wail. Yes, a wail that makes me speed up and groan loudly as I spurt all over my hand.

When our breathing is back to normal, I hear him giggle.

“Fuck, Armie, you ruined my gift!”

“What are you talking about?”

“How can I even look at him in the eye again?”

I smirk. I knew he would follow my lead, without me having to state things out loud.

“Mmm… What have you done, boy?”

“Uhm, you know… you asked me if Mr. Hugglesworth was near and… I…”

“You did what exactly?”, I smile.

“Uhm… well… you know… he’s scratchy as your two-days-old scruff so… I might have…”

“Spit it out, boy. Now”, I growl. I’m getting hard. Again.

He sighs. “I humped the bed, fingers in my ass, nuzzling my cheek on Mr. Hugglesworth as if it were your chest”, he blurts out quickly, before chickening out.

“Not sick, babe”, I answer his nonverbal question. “Not sick at all”. _Shit, how I wish I was there._

He sends me a pic. Blissed out expression, curls plastered on his forehead, a glimpse of hideous orange peeking from the side. _Can I be jealous of a shaggy teddybear?_ , I wonder. _Maybe._

“Feeling better, babe?”

“Always with you”, he murmurs. “Luckily the shots for Vanity Fair are all done. I think I’ll sport some serious razor burn tomorrow!”

I laugh. “Now rest. You’ll sport some REAL razor burn soon enough.”

“Love you, Armz. Thanks for always knowing how to cheer me up”.

“Love you too, Tim. Can’t wait to see your VF cover. You’ll rock it! Screw the Academy”.

“Yeah. Screw them!”, he giggles.

Sadness gone, he’s all light again. My shining star. My beautiful boy. My love.


End file.
